I Am Your Shadow
by eidheann
Summary: Love (n) An intense feeling of deep affection. Yield (v) To give up or surrender (oneself). / Written for HD-Hurtfest 2014 on livejournal. Mind the warnings inside.


**Title:** I Am Your Shadow  
**Author:** eidheann (eidheann_writes)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Harry/Draco, mentioned Ron/Hermione, past Harry/Ginny, mentioned Harry/others  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** **Dark themes. Depression. Dub-con due to intoxication. Amortentia.**  
**Word Count:** ~3000  
**Summary:** Love (n) An intense feeling of deep affection. Yield (v) To give up or surrender (oneself).  
**Author Notes:** Written for hd_hurtfest 2014. Thank you to zeitgeistic and capitu or your *tireless* cheerleading getting me through this, and iwao for whipping it into shape. I couldn't have done this without any of you.

* * *

It began with Malfoy drunk in the eighth year common room; but no, that was a lie. Really, it began earlier than that. It was Halloween, and the eighth years had finished celebrating in the Great Hall. Malfoy hadn't been there. His existence in Hogwarts meant he was ignored and excluded at best, hexed and beaten at worst.

Malfoy was on one of the overstuffed chairs near the fire, a bottle of something amber and smelling strongly of apples, raisins and alcohol half-empty in his hand. His face was flushed and his white shirt open at the collar, showing where the pink mottled his neck as well, and his hair was mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it.

He turned slowly as the door opened and the boisterous group tumbled in, even though they treated him as if he wasn't there. He moved from his seat, however. He'd learned that lesson their first night back at Hogwarts, moving away from the fire and taking his bottle and leaning against one of the more shadowed walls. His former chair was quickly taken over, along with the rest, then someone turned on the wireless and soon the Old Ogdens and Muggle rum was flowing and the party continued.

Harry watched Malfoy mostly from habit; the way he was ignored as long as he kept to himself, the way his eyes and hair practically _glittered_ in the reflected light of the fire, the way the sweet sharpness of the fruit in whatever was in his bottle carried over the darker smoky smell of firewhisky.

Harry almost envied him, sitting in the dark and ignored. He could be left alone, so long as he didn't make a fuss of himself. Whereas Harry had to plaster on a smile and pretend everything was _fine_ and he was _okay_ and _yes_ he wanted another drink.

The last part was true, at least. He did want another drink. And another after that. He thought that must count for something, as he couldn't seem to want or feel much the past several months. The aftermath of the final battle left him with only the faintest twinges of relief, a _well, that's that_. Even the funerals couldn't break through the fog. He felt nothing beyond sensing he _should_ be feeling something.

He was good at faking, though. He managed well enough to fool Hermione. She thought his drinking and lack of desire to get back with Ginny was temporary- simply a sewing of his wild oats.

It was a relief when everyone was enough in their cups to stop paying him any mind. He took his own firewhisky and moved to where Malfoy was still leaning, silent and still, except when raising the bottle to his mouth for a drink. Harry gave a brief nod, concentrating on his own drink and enjoying the faint relief of the still silence near Malfoy.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Harry turned, saw Malfoy's eyes were glittering at him now, and shrugged. "Didn't feel like a party."

"Oh that's right. _Halloween_. Fucking Savior needs to fucking brood about his parents."

Harry waited for _something_, for the familiar rush of anger that Malfoy was always able to inspire. It didn't come. "You must be pretty drunk if you're talking like that."

Malfoy's shoulders dropped. "Yeah. I am. It's like I'm invisible. Except when I'm not. Guess I wanted to see what it felt like."

"Being an arse?"

Malfoy just gave a faint twist to his lips and tipped his bottle at him in toast. The potent scent wafted across to Harry, and he grimaced. "What is that shit?"

"Brandy. Mum smuggled cases of it out over the last year. Good thing, too." Malfoy frowned at the bottle, and Harry was almost relieved the bright eyes weren't staring at him any longer. "Got enough to cover her move to France, even after reparations." He looked up abruptly, enough that he swayed briefly. "As long as you don't go telling the Ministry, Potter."

He shrugged. "Don't much care what your mum snuck out."

Malfoy smiled this time, an honest, bright, intoxicated smile full of teeth. "You're a good man, Potter. For a git. Always thought so."

"You're full of it. And drunk. You hate me."

"No! Wanted to be your friend! You hated me!"

"Well, you were a git."

"I know." Malfoy sighed. "Do you still?"

"No." And it was true. He seemed to have lost his ability to hate when he lost his ability to feel anything but the buzzing of alcohol in his veins. Malfoy seemed to take it differently, as he threw his arms around him, pulling him into a clumsy hug.

Then he kissed him. And Harry figured _why not_?

XXX

Escaping the common room unnoticed was too much to ask, so Harry didn't even try. He simply hoisted one of Malfoy's arms over his shoulder and stumbled his way directly to the steps leading up to the boys' dorm. He didn't much care about the frowns sent in their direction, he just ignored them like he did Hermione's concerned expression.

When they finally made it up, he dropped Malfoy onto his bed and climbed in after him. He was tugging at the buttons of Malfoy's shirt and Malfoy was making things difficult, pulling him in for one snog after another, each tasting of alcohol and apples and the slick slide of Malfoy's tongue against his.

He eventually gave up on the shirts, pulling away to rip off their trousers and pants. Malfoy's cock was swollen and half-hard, but Harry thought he was likely too drunk to do anything with it. Instead, he flicked his wand in a quick_Accio_, summoning a bottle of lubricant from somewhere in the room.  
He prepared Malfoy quickly, and all the while, Malfoy babbled and clung; saying things like _yes_, and _please_, and_always_, and _Harry_. Harry didn't want to listen to it, so he flipped Malfoy over, grabbed his hips hard enough to leave bruises in the pale skin, and pushed his way in.  
Malfoy cried out at the entry, a hand flailing back, long fingers grasping at Harry's. But when Harry looked at his face in profile, behind the tears, Malfoy was smiling.

XXX

Harry didn't really get what the big deal with sex was. He remembered the rush of emotion the first time he'd kissed Ginny back in sixth year. He always imagined sex would be like that; the thrill, coupled with the feeling of a really good wank.  
He'd done it a few times, the summer after the war; back when he was looking for something, anything to break through the cloud that seemed to surround him. But even wanking didn't do it anymore. He could get hard, he could come, but it just felt... nice. Like a hot shower, or brushing his teeth.  
It wasn't supposed to feel _nice_. He remembered nights, tucked under his blanket in the tent with Ron and Hermione, pulling frantically on his cock while trying to remain silent because he needed something that just felt so good. Something that left him feeling overwhelmed by anything other than fear, or confusion, or loss.

It wasn't like brushing his teeth.

He chalked it up to yet another part of himself that was broken.

XXX

He was relieved he didn't have as much of a hangover the next morning as he'd half-expected. Nevertheless, he accepted Hermione's potion and chiding look and _"Malfoy, Harry? Really?"_ with a sheepish expression, letting her sigh and shake her head and lead him down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He didn't see Malfoy there, but wasn't surprised with the speed in which he'd passed out the night before—doubtless Malfoy was suffering from his hangover _and_ Harry's. He missed his morning classes as well.

He was at lunch, however. He gave a tentative smile in Harry's direction across the table, to which Harry nodded blankly in return. He saw Malfoy's shoulders slump slightly as he went back to his chicken.

XXX

The next time he spoke with Malfoy was several days later. It was late, almost curfew, and Harry was hurrying back to the common room. The hallway was dim, and he almost tripped over the legs sprawled across the floor.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" He peered into the shadows where Malfoy was sitting, slowly retracting his legs.

"Sorry." And it was the dull, quiet voice he'd used all term. He stood slowly, stiffly. The left side of his face was swollen and mottled with the early signs of bruising, and the corner of his mouth caked with dried blood.

"Alright?"

Malfoy's swollen mouth only allowed for a half-smile reminiscent of his old sneer, but the anger in his eyes was obvious. "Apparently, if I'm going to spread my legs for the Golden Boy, I should be happy to do so for everyone else."

The faint tension of guilt in his gut was surprising, and he frowned. "They didn't..." He allowed his words to trail off, not wanting to say _that_.

Malfoy sighed, anger bleeding away as quickly as it arrived and leaving the same dullness he'd worn earlier. "No. Just knocked me around a bit."

Harry nodded. "Right. Should get inside then before the Prefects come looking for an excuse to set you detention then."

At Malfoy's nod, he held the door open and followed Malfoy in.

XXX

"I just don't understand."

Harry had come across Malfoy again, this time sitting in one of the corridors in the Charms wing. He'd not been looking for him, but after dinner the common room had been crowded and loud and _happy_ with the upcoming Christmas break, so he'd decided a walk would be the perfect thing to get away from it.

Malfoy was drunk, the smell of the same brandy he'd been drinking at Halloween potent enough to make Harry's eyes water from where he was standing. He'd come across him numerous times in his walks, sometimes showing signs of a beating, but never before drunk. Maybe that was why Malfoy spoke.

He stopped and leaned against the opposite wall. "Understand what?"

"Why you did it. I thought you... I thought you loved me, that's why I..." Malfoy rubbed a hand across his face, and Harry wondered for a moment if some of the redness of his face was due to something more than the alcohol.

Then Harry stared at Malfoy as his words registered. "Loved you? What?"

"You... you saved me. In the Room of Hidden Things. I thought..." Malfoy was watching him, his eyes glassy in a way Harry'd become familiar with in the rounds of funerals after the war. He'd not seen Malfoy looking like that though, not since sixth year. His voice was rough and quiet enough Harry had to strain to hear when he continued. "You saved me. You had no reason to, we'd always... I thought... And then you..."

Harry sighed. "You saved me at the Manor. You'd done enough damage to my face that some swelling wouldn't have fooled you. Why did you save me?"

Malfoy blinked at him for a moment. "Because... He was living in my house! You had to win!"

"Not because you loved me."

Malfoy seemed to collapse in on himself at that. "No, I... I didn't. It wasn't... You didn't... It was just an exchange."

Harry felt another faint stirring at that, familiar enough with guilt to recognize it, even as muffled as it was. "If you like. I wasn't thinking about it like that, but..." He gave a shrug.

"You don't love me." Malfoy didn't even seem to be paying attention to him anymore, staring blankly at his knees.

He sighed. He thought about trying to make Malfoy feel better, saying he didn't really love _anyone_ and he sometimes wondered if he even could anymore. But this was _Malfoy_. "No."

Malfoy's face twitched slightly, but he gave no further indication he even knew Harry was still there. Harry waited a moment, awkward in the silence before he continued along the hallway. Malfoy never moved.

XXX

"And Malfoy's been so weird lately." Harry's attention was caught from where he was doodling in the margin of his Transfiguration assignment at Hermione's words. She'd been speaking quietly to Ron and he'd mostly been ignoring it until then.

"Compared to what?" Ron's voice carried further than Hermione's did, and Harry glanced around the library to see a couple other students glaring briefly from nearby tables before returning to their assignments. It was only early spring, but the rush of studying for OWL and NEWT year students had left the tables more than half full.

"Just... I don't know how to explain it exactly." Hermione was frowning at her parchment as if it would provide the answers she needed. "Quiet?"

Ron let his copy of Quidditch Quarterly fall to the table as he turned to look at Hermione. "Quiet? He's been quiet all year and _I'm_ not complaining."

"It's not just that. I mean." Hermione huffed a sigh, glancing briefly up at Harry and blushing when she saw him watching. "It's like he's... fading. He was quiet at the start of the year, but he was still _there_. But now he doesn't talk in class, he won't even answer when he's called on. When he shows up. It's like he's disappearing."

"Why do you care? Another couple months, we won't have to see him anymore anyway." Ron shrugged and picked up his magazine, leaving Hermione squirming in Harry's gaze.

"It's just... It's not healthy. Something might really be wrong." She shut her mouth at that, turning back to her text. Her shoulders were hunched in the way she always did when she was trying to avoid talking about something.

Harry thought about what Hermione had said and realized she was right. Malfoy had been withdrawn since the Holiday in a way he hadn't been at the start of the year. Or, and that feeling of guilt crawled in his stomach again, since slightly before the break, after talking to Harry.

He sighed, looking back at his parchment. Maybe he should talk to Malfoy again.

XXX

Deciding to speak to Malfoy again proved easier said than done. Hermione was correct when she stated he'd rarely bother to show up to classes. Harry occasionally saw him in passing, usually in the halls during free periods, but always too far away to catch.

He also seemed to have tucked himself away during Harry's walks, and he only became aware of how often he'd passed Malfoy when he didn't any longer.

He finally dug out his map, frustrated that he'd not done so sooner, frustrated that he felt somehow responsible for Malfoy.

All that faded when he saw where Malfoy was located: the sixth floor bathroom.

XXX

When Harry pushed the door to the bathroom open and saw Malfoy laying on his back in the middle of the floor, his stomach dropped. He was suddenly back in sixth year, watching Malfoy's blood seeping into the spraying water of the broken sink.

Then Malfoy turned his head slightly to peer at the door and the illusion faded, leaving the lingering taste of fear in the back of his throat. He waited a moment in the doorway, waiting for Malfoy to move or speak or something, but he simply rolled his head back to stare once again at the ceiling.

Finally, Harry shuffled inside, letting the door close behind him. "Alright, Malfoy?" His voice sounded hoarse and nervous in the faint echo of the tiled room.

He didn't think Malfoy was going to answer, several moments passed before he heard a quiet "Alright."

Frustration rose again, because any idiot could see Malfoy was not _alright_. "Really. You're so alright that you're laying in the fucking bathroom where you almost died in sixth year. That alright?"

Malfoy's lip twisted in a half-hearted sneer. "Seems I'm not the only one familiar with this bathroom."

Harry winced at that and Malfoy's sneer faded back to nothing. He'd opened his mouth to apologize when Malfoy spoke again. "I loved you, you know. It's why I... But now everyone knows I'm a poof. Mother hoped to arrange a marriage for me after Hogwarts, so I would have a chance..." He gave a brief laugh at that, but it sounded flat. "Everyone knows I'd rather take it up the arse. Even Mother."

"I'm sorry."

Malfoy gave a half-shrug as he pushed himself back up to sitting, still keeping his gaze focused away from Harry. "Too late now, I suppose."

"I don't love you, Malfoy."

The words seemed to hit Malfoy like a physical blow, and he flinched visibly. "Yes, you made that abundantly clear."

"No, I mean... I don't love you. I don't love anyone anymore. I don't think I can."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better, Potter?" The way Malfoy spat his name, like they were back in third year, was almost a relief. A sign of something beyond the blankness.

"I just mean... I wish I could."

"Love anyone? Or love me?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair and huffed in frustration. "I don't know, okay? It doesn't matter."

"It does." Malfoy crawled a few paces closer to him, his eyes glittering in a way they hadn't since Halloween. "It does matter. Don't you see? You _can_ love me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have it. The Amortentia we made in sixth year."

Harry rocked back on his heels, caught by the avidness of Malfoy's gaze. "That's not love."

"It's enough until you learn to love me."

He didn't know what to say, but the thought of actually feeling again seemed like something worth having, so he just said "Okay."

XXX

The glass Malfoy held was no doubt nicked from the Great Hall at dinner that evening. He tipped the vial, pouring half the contents into the cup.

"It's a half-dose. Maybe... Maybe you'll be able to fool Granger. She'll send me to Azkaban for this, otherwise."

Harry sighed, feeling very much done with the whole thing. "I'll deal with Hermione. Just give it to me."

Malfoy passed the glass over, and Harry stared at it a moment. Part of him couldn't believe he was doing this- not for Malfoy, not for anyone. The opalescent shimmer of the potion reminded him somewhat of Malfoy's eyes, drunk and fire-lit. He took a deep breath, inhaling the steam spiraling up from the glass. Treacle tart. A combination of leather and broomstick polish he always associated with the Hogwarts broom shed. Then something else: apples and raisins.

He glanced briefly up at Malfoy. _Oh..._

He closed his eyes and swallowed the potion, and then he looked at Draco and smiled.


End file.
